


An Offer of Marriage

by claroso



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, BroTP: Advisors, F/F, F/M, Found Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claroso/pseuds/claroso
Summary: Arranged marriage is used throughout Thedas as a way to secure alliances and improve social status. For the Commander of the Inquisitor and the Witch of Alyons, it is necessary formality. Love, however, blooms in the most unexpected places.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Female Lavellan/Josephine Montilyet
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	1. An Eligible Bachelor

"I'm sorry, do you--did you just say marriage?" 

Cullen stared across the war table, not quite believing what he just heard. Marriage?

Leliana returned his gaze levelly. Josephine smiled tightly and smoothed a hand over her elaborate updo. 

"Do not fret, Commander," the diplomat hurried to assure him, "It has been mentioned once or twice in negotiations but there is certainly no need for any--" 

"It would not be wise to dismiss any idea out of hand." Leliana cut smoothly over their fellow adviser. 

Cullen shook his head. He knew that some of the nobles inquired about him, Orlesian and Fereldan both, but he never took it seriously. The letters had been handed off to Josephine and promptly forgotten. To hear his colleagues talk about it like it had any merit whatsoever was alarming.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No. Absolutely not."

To his great relief, the subject was dropped. He pushed the matter out of his mind and resolved never to think about it again. 

* * *

Cullen ground his teeth as he lashed out at a dummy. The training yard is usually where he came to center himself—the familiarity of the motions grounding him—but tonight it did nothing to stem the anger blooming in his chest. Another pointless dinner surrounded by fawning nobles, forced to suffer through inane conversations about the latest scandal. As if there weren’t real problems to deal with. Soldiers fought and people suffered, but he just spent at least an hour listening to some pounce in a wig complain about an opera performance that had somehow insulted him.

This was the third evening in two weeks that he had to spend shmoozing with politicians instead of doing something useful. Reviewing reports, coordinating scouts, drilling soldiers, or literally anything else. 

And afterward, Leliana had introduced him to a young woman and promptly abandoned him. With no way of escaping, at least politely, he managed a stilted conversation with... what was her name? Anne? Annabelle? 

Another blow with the wooden practice sword knocked the dummy over. He panted with exertion, glaring at it. A low whistle caught his attention. 

"What'd the dummy do to piss you off?" Inquisitor Lavellan said in her deep tenor, leaning against the sparring ring's fence. In her formal uniform she seemed even larger and more imposing than usual, but her scared face was open and smiling. 

"It cheated at cards." He replied, but his jest felt empty. He took a final swing at the wooden figure. With a loud crack, the dummy’s neck broke and its head tumbled to the ground.

She chuckled. "Well, I'll have it put in the dungeon."

"I can think of a few others to throw down there with it." He said, trudging over to the Inquisitor to hang up the practice sword.

"I doubt Lady Anna Marie was that awful." She rolled her eyes. " _She_ wasn't the one to talk about mabaris for close to an hour."

"I panicked!” He exclaimed. “Leliana just up and left me there with no warning, if she would at least let me know me know before I could--"

"You'd run off at the first opportunity." Lavellan finished for him. He tried to protest, but she held up her hands. "I don't blame you Cullen, I hate these things as much as you do. But they're necessary." 

"But I'm just a soldier, I'm not suited for this! I cannot stand all this groveling and pretending just for some idiotic nobles!" 

"And?" She looked at him coolly. 

Cullen faltered. He forgot, sometimes, how much horseshit Lavellan dealt with daily. Besides her position as Inquisitor, her very existence as an Elf meant she had to fight that much harder. She was sneered at and belittled by the Orlesian Court under a thin veneer of courtesy—made to feel lesser, even in her own castle. And she always took it in stride, no matter what.

"And how do you bear it?" 

She crossed her arms and looked away. "Talking to them is easy, most of the time. It can be difficult to be around Josephine during these events. I have to stop myself from reaching out for her hand." 

He hadn't even thought about that. The Inquisition’s Inner Circle knew about their budding romance, of course, but they tried to keep it secret from the outside world. Maker, he felt like an arse. 

"I'm sorry." He said weakly. 

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry that Leliana is trying to set you up with a noble."

"Maker's breath." Cullen groaned, putting his head in his hands. Lavellan laughed. "I need a drink."

"You're buying." She clapped him on the back. He grumbled but couldn't help smiling as they made their way to the tavern.

* * *

Some days, Cullen felt like he lived in one of Varric's ridiculous books. Today was certainly one of those days. According to several different reports, the Inquisitor had just fought a duel for Josephine's love. He couldn't help but laugh. 

"Do you find this amusing, Commander?" Leliana asked.

He smiled and put down the reports. "I suppose so. I didn't know Lavellan was such a romantic!"

When the spymaster's expression didn't change, he felt the grin slip off his face. 

"The Inquisitor was just in a very public duel with a respected Antivan nobleman. In the middle of Val Royeaux." She said icily. "I don't find that very amusing at all."

He frowned. "The man wasn't even hurt, and he conceded the duel. I don't understand why you're upset."

"We can ill afford a scandal right now. We will not receive support from those who are laughing at us."

"Laughing at us for what?" He asked, bewildered.

"For an overemotional leader, for fraternization among our advisers, and our inability to hold up a simple marriage contract!" Her fist hit the war table with a sharp bang. "The Inquisitor being involved with anyone in our organization would be ill-advised and with an adviser? It's a disaster." 

"That's ridiculous! Do you want them to be miserable, just to please a few nobles?" Cullen shook his head. 

"You don't understand the Game at all, Cullen.” She said, disdain plainly in her gaze. “There will be repercussions for this, serious ones. Are you ready to meet them?"

He squared his shoulders. "For this, of course."

* * *

When Lavellan and Josephine returned, they were greeting rambunctiously at the gate. And again at the great hall. At the Herald’s Rest, the library, and the kitchen. Practically wherever they went, cheers and congratulations followed. Cullen didn't think he ever saw the Inquisitor so happy. 

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of their Lady Ambassador. She was obviously stressed. He noticed her staying up later and skipping meals. When Lavellan was out in the field, he and Leliana brought food to her office. 

The stream of visiting nobles dried up. There were no new arrivals, eager to see Skyhold and meet the Inquisitor. Most of the nobles currently visiting had packed up and left, and the few that stayed were the ones that did nothing but gossip behind their decorative fans and overwork the staff. 

The companions in Skyhold did their best to help, but the bags under Josephine's eyes continued to deepen.

One night, when the ache for lyrium wouldn't let him sleep, he was walking to the War Room when saw a light under the door to the Inquisitor's quarters. Lavellan wasn't due back for another two weeks. He loosened his sword in its sheath and opened the door.

Someone was sitting against the ground, face buried against their knees and a mass of dark hair tumbling down their back. A single candle lit cast a wavering light on them. 

"Josephine?" 

She jerked her head up, revealing her tear-streaked face. "Commander!" She scrambled to her feet. "Excuse me, I didn't expect anyone to be up at this hour, sorry for disturbing you, I--" 

"No, don't apologize. Are--" He awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder, not sure of what to do. "Are you alright?" 

Josephine looked up at him, wide-eyed. Tears started trickling down her cheeks and her chin wobbled. 

"Oh no, I'm sorry, please don't cry--" He said frantically. 

Her face crumpled. She fell into him, sobbing and clutching at his shirt. Hesitantly, Cullen wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders. 

"Fine. You're fine. Shh." Maker, he was terrible at this. He couldn't remember the last time he had to console a friend. At least he wasn't wearing his armor.

Eventually, she quieted. "Thank you, Cullen." 

"I'm not doing much." 

When she stepped back, wiping her eyes, she pointed at his chest and giggled. "Oh, Maker, I'm so sorry." 

"What? Oh." The front of his shirt was streaked with makeup. He chuckled. 

"Oh, no, I must look terrible." She sniffed, wiping at her face. "I can't be seen like this." 

"There's no one up at this time. Except us." He smiled. "Can I walk you back?"

"Of course." She took his arm gratefully. 

As they walked across the great hall to her room, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Josephine, I know I'm not the most skilled at diplomacy..." he said hesitantly, "but is there anything I can do to help?"

"Cullen, I..." 

"Even if you need me to flirt with an Orlesian or two, I can."

They stopped and she looked up at him. "Are you being serious?"

He glanced at her tear-stained face, the dark circles under her eyes. "I... Well, I suppose I am." 

“Thank you, Cullen." She smiled wanly and squeezed his arm. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Ambassador." 

The door shut behind her, and Cullen hoped he hadn't agreed to more than he could handle. 


	2. An Unexpected Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes an interesting new acquaintance. (Ft. assassins and fancy dresses)

Cullen was hiding. It was not an action he was proud of or enjoyed doing, but he thought that his current circumstances excused it. Avoiding the cloying attention of nobles would certainly excuse more drastic actions. Besides, he wasn’t hiding for long, he just needed a moment to breathe before he rejoined the party.

He had strategically placed himself between a large fern and a bookcase. Wedged in the corner of the ballroom, he doubted he would be noticed. He peeked through the fern. Playful music and laughter accompanied the spinning dancers. Light seemed to float across the room, reflected in the glass and jewels adorning every surface. He had to admit it was beautiful. But in a distant, unreachable way, like a stained-glass window set high above him. 

In the two weeks leading up to the Grand Ball at Halamshiral, it was necessary to attend a number of these events. At least, according to Josephine. As the Inquisitor wouldn't arrive until just before the Ball, the advisers needed to make her presence felt in the days preceding. So, they attended an endless number of events in Val Royeaux. For Cullen, all of them had blurred together until he couldn't remember one important Lord or Lady from the next. 

"Excuse me?" He jumped at the voice close behind him, turning to see a noblewoman. She had dark skin and a red mask covered the top half of her face. She was smiling, as if she was amused to catch him by surprise. "Commander Rutherford, it's lovely to see you again." 

"You as well." He offered with a hasty bow. She curtsied. A few strands of black, tightly coiled hair fell from her up-do and brushed against her face. "My lady." He tacked on to the end awkwardly. 

She folded her hands in front of her. "You don't remember me."

"I, uh... I'm very sorry."

"Well, you simply must make it up to me." She smiled up at him, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. "Take a turn about the room with me?"

Before Cullen could protest, she pulled him out of his hiding space. He stumbled. Quickly righting himself, he grumbled and glared at the woman. Her dark eyes crinkled behind the mask. 

They walked slowly, edging around the dancers and slipping between clusters of conversation. She pressed close to him, her shoulder against his bicep. Her dress, the same vivid red as her mask, brushed against his leg. He scrambled for something to say. Josephine had given him a list of topic he was supposed to use, but they had all fled from his mind.

"The party is lovely, don't you think?" He eventually came up with. 

She didn't look up at him. "I do, but that's most likely because I planned it." 

"Oh. I didn't realize."

"Hm." 

He bit the inside of his cheek. Maker, this was painful. "May I have your name?" 

"Why do you want it?" Her head turned in his direction, but her eyes didn't quite meet his.

"Well, if our ambassador finds out I didn't even know the name of our host tonight, she's going to be upset." He said.

"I'm sure a hardened soldier like yourself will survive. If you will excuse me, I must check on something." She released his arm and curtsied quickly. She smiled up at him, but her eyes were focused behind him. "Enjoy your evening, Commander." 

She disappeared into the crowd. Bewildered, Cullen turned and scanned the crowd, wondering what she could have possibly been looking at. 

Several people stared in the direction the mystery woman had vanished. All in different dress and scattered about the room. And, one by one, they broke off and followed her. 

Cullen's blood chilled. Without pausing to think, he went after her. Walking as fast as he could, he weaved through the crowd, eyes intent and searching. He wasn't even sure he was headed the right direction until he saw a flash of red ahead of him, ducking through a doorway. He sped up. 

Nearly knocking over a pair of servants, he barreled through the door and into a library. It was dimly lit and lined with tall shelves. Perfect for an ambush. 

A clash of metal against metal echoed through the room. White light flashed, briefly illuminating the room. Cullen felt a rush of shivers up his spine. Magic. He drew his sword and charged towards the fight. 

The mystery woman was surrounded. She danced between her enemies, knives flashing in her hands. Her skirts swirled around her. 

Cullen cut through an archer's legs and he fell forward with a cry. Another slash and he crumpled. He turned, catching another sword against his. A kick to the knee and a flash of his blade sent the swords-woman to the ground. 

A man rushed towards him, daggers raised. He raised his sword, bracing himself. A split second before he reached him, electricity coursed over his body and he seized. When he fell, Cullen saw the mystery woman with her arm outstretched. Lightning arced around her hand. Two assailants lie dead at her feet, one burnt and smoking, the other slashed across the throat. 

She lowered her hand, her expression inscrutable behind her mask. "You didn't have to help me."

"You know, a 'thank you' is expected when someone saves your life." He huffed. 

"Strange custom."

"In Fereldan it's just common decency."

Slowly, she smiled. With a quick snap of her wrists, her daggers disappeared. Somewhere in her skirts, he guessed, though the movement was so quick he couldn't see how. "Well said. Thank you for your assistance, Commander." 

"Of course." He went to sheathe his sword, but realized it was covered in blood. "Uh, do you..."

She crossed the room and handed him a handkerchief. 

"Am I allowed to know your name now?" He asked as he quickly wiped down his blade.

"Well, I suppose attempted assassination tends to bring people closer, doesn’t it?” She said, smirking up at him. “I am Safina Malet." 

"Better late than never." He muttered as he sheathed his sword. This close to him, she looked wild. Her hair was tangled and her cheeks flushed. Blood dripped from a cut along her jaw. And behind her mask, her eyes shown with an energy he hadn't seen in the ballroom. He cleared his throat and turned toward the dead men. "Who were they?"

"Men sent by an old family rival." Safina shook her head. "And rather cheap ones, too. They didn't put up a very good fight, did they?"

"No, but they might have underestimated their target."

"There's a complement in there somewhere." She said with an arched eyebrow

"Possibly." He chuckled and gestured to her dress. "But I am impressed that you can fight in... all that."

She grinned and swished her skirts around gently. "You can do anything with enough practice, Commander." 

"Fair point." 

"Hm." She sighed. "I'll send some guards to clean this up. And I need to go back to my rooms to clean up." 

"I'll escort you." He said immediately. 

She crossed her arms. "You will? Think of the scandal, Commander."

"What? No, I just--"

"Gentlemen do not escort ladies to and from their private rooms in the middle of a soiree. Unless you want everyone in this house to think we're sleeping together." She eyed him up and down. “Not that I would mind such a rumor, of course. But I think your reputation would suffer.”

He threw his hands up, his cheeks flushing. "There could be more assassins! That's all I meant!"

"That's sweet of you." She patted his arm. The warmth he had seen in her just a minute earlier was gone, replaced by a sharp condescension. "But I think that was all of them. Besides, a rumor can hurt more than any weapon."

"Maker's breath." He pinched his nose. 

"You should return to the party before your friends start to miss you." She curtsied. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Commander." 

"Likewise, Lady Malet." Cullen watched her walk away with a strange pang in his chest. 

* * *

When he caught up with the other Inquisition members, Josephine caught his arm.

“Cullen! Where are on Thedas were you?” She exclaimed, pulling him away from the group where Leliana and Madame de Fer were talking to a few masked nobles.

“I needed some air for a bit, that’s all.” He said, choosing to lie instead of let anything slip. 

Madame de Fer raised an eyebrow. Of all the members of the Inner Circle, she was the one he’d spent the most time with lately. Unfortunately.

And he knew that expression meant she thought he was full of horseshit. Actually, a majority of her expressions meant that, but he disliked this one the most.

He focused back on Josephine. “What can I help with?”

She brightened. “There’s a retired General that would like to speak with you. Remember: war stories and tactics only, no politics.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll go grab him, stay right here!” She said. He forced a smile and she hurried off.

Madame de Fer excused herself from her conversation and glided over to him. Unhurried and calm, just like she was in every other action. A fact that he had become very familiar with since she’d agreed to teach him.

The morning after his promise to Josephine and at a loss for options, he’d asked Madame de Fer if she would teach him about Orlais. And Maker, the woman had taken to it with relish. He hadn’t been drilled that much since his first days in the Templars. He learned how to bow one way to a Duke and another to a Marquis. He learned turns of phrase, the difference between a genuine curiosity about his health and a veiled proposition. He learned how to answer a question and reveal nothing.

And it worked. Before they had left for the Winter Palace, the nobles had started to visit Skyhold again. They argued and complained and took up altogether too much space, but he didn’t feel overwhelmed like he used to. He could hold a conversation. True, he mostly deferred the topic to one of the other advisers, but he did it without embarrassing himself or the Inquisition.

He still didn’t enjoy it and he would never be skilled at it, but he could manage.

“I just saw the most curious thing.” Madame de Fer said.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

“The Commander of the Inquisition, following a beautiful lady in red out of the party. Our host, I believe.” She tipped her head to the side in question. “And here he appears, looking disheveled. I do hope you were not doing anything untoward, my dear.”

Cullen gripped his sword to ground himself, trying not to scowl. “Of course I wasn’t.” He said lowly.

“What did happen?”

“I shouldn’t say here.” He said. If someone should overhear him, a rumor would spread. He had no idea what consequences the fight in the library would have and until he did, silence was best. He should forget it, focus on the people Josephine put in front of him. He could see her now, moving through the crowd with a fat, graying man.

But the sight of Lady Malet came back to him, wild and blood splattered. She was a mess of contradictions. Both friendly and distant, fierce and calm, a noble and yet a mage.

“What do the Malets mean to the Inquisition?” He asked. Madame de Fer’s brow creased faintly. “Were we hoping to ally with them?”

“We already are. Not that it matters.” She said dismissively. “They are a small family, of next to no importance to anyone. Frankly, our presence is an undeserved grace to their house.”

Cullen frowned and opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Josephine’s arrival and her exuberant introductions. He forced his mind to the matter at hand, his concerns about their odd host forgotten, at least for a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little tease at this new character ;) The next chapter will be Safina's POV, so we'll be learning a lot more about her soon!  
> Also, I will NOT be updating regularly and I'm likely to keep posting short chapters like this one. That tends to suit my crazy medical school schedule better.  
> Please leave me a comment! I always love hearing people's thoughts, good or bad.


	3. A Distinguished Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, midterms suck.   
> This chapter was supposed to be a lot longer, but whatever. Hopefully I can get another chapter out before the semester ends!

Harsh light cut into her eyes. Safina grumbled and instinctively rolled away from it, burying her head into her pillow. 

"Wake up!" Her father's voice called, too cheerful for this time of the morning. "We have so much to do and so little time to do it in." 

" _Babai,'iinah mubakir jdana_. _"_ She whined and pulled the covers over her head. 

Suddenly, they were yanked out of her grip. She groaned as cold air rushed over her body and cut through her nightgown, curling into a ball to try to conserve any warmth left to her. 

"Marquise Mantillon will be visiting today."

She jolted up, nearly falling off the edge of her bed."What? The Dowager!" She demanded. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I'm telling you now, _sokar."_ Father grinned and dropped down to her bedroom couch. Just then, she noticed a platter of food and two cups of steaming tea laid out in front of him. "We just received her calling card a few minutes ago and she's planning on coming for tea. You still have hours to get ready."

"Oh." Safina sighed. "Maker, don't scare me like that."

He spread his hands and smiled wider. "Let an old man have his fun, eh?" 

She rolled her eyes and plucked her robe from a nearby chair. As if he didn't have enough _fun_. 

Marquis Anselm Malet of Alyons was known for one thing--getting into and out of trouble as quick as an Asaarash Charger/Rivani Charger. Just the right amount, of course, enough to invite attention but not punishment. A scandalous affair here, a daring duel there. Cheating at cards with a minor noble, then turning and handing all the money he won to the same noble's wife. 

Twenty-five years ago, he was the darling of Emperor Florian's court. Today, he was still the roguish Chevalier her mother used to tell her stories about. And despite his graying hair, wrinkles, and diminished station, he could still charm the peg leg off a pirate--as he was so fond of saying

His blue eyes twinkled as she wrapped her pink robe around herself and tied her mussed curls up and out of the way. 

"You had plenty of fun last night." She said, raising an eyebrow judgmentally. 

"Is that all I'm allowed, then?" He pressed a hand to his chest and gasped. "One night of cards?"

Safina rolled her eyes. She crossed the room and patted his head mockingly. "Yes, that's your allotment for the whole year. You shouldn't have spent it all in one place."

He laughed, but the circles under his eyes, the smeared makeup on his pale skin showed the weariness that he hid well. To all except to her. He must have been out very late. She wondered if he had gotten any sleep at all. 

"How was the party?" He asked. 

"Overall a success, I think." She sat across from him, picking up a cup of tea. The wafting scent of mint surrounded her and she smiled. "Amelia sent some friends to say hello, by the way." 

"Oh?" 

"Yes, they were terrible quality this time. She must be running out of money." She took a long sip, savoring the bitter taste. "Commander Cullen got involved."

"From the Inquisition?" A frown dug into his brow. 

She nodded. Last night, the Commander had swept in like a storybook knight and helped fend off her attackers. And while she wanted to be grateful, she couldn't help but wonder why. Did he want some favor in return? Did the Inquisition? 

But when the fight was over, her heart hammering in her chest, he hadn't asked for anything but a 'thank you' _._ No hint of trading favors. He simply offered to escort her to her room--an offer made many times by many men, with far less worthy intentions. 

"I don't understand it." She said. "We are already allied with the Inquisition and they're being courted by houses higher than ours. We have nothing they want." 

"As far as we know." Her father pointed out. 

"Yes, but... the Commander strikes me as a simple man with no interest in the Game." Safina ventured. Frankly, the Commander was awkward. He could barely string a sentence together at the party. And then his manners had slid into a blunt sarcasm that he seemed far more comfortable with. He'd seemed almost content, after the fight, even with a bloody sword in his hand. "Maybe he simply likes fighting. More than politics, at least." 

"That does sound like a typical Fereldan." He said.

She shrugged. It wasn't really important, in the grand scheme of things. Interesting, but not useful.

"How was Wicked Grace?" 

"I won more than I lost." He grinned, holding up a card. She gasped. "Your tip was right, the Comte's secretary attended."

She grabbed the calling card. It held the image of a deer, its forked antlers held up proudly. Comte Lothair Doucy's family crest. It was simple, but priceless to her. 

This plan was the latest of many to secure her father's inheritance. As a mage, she could never inherit the title of Marquis by herself. But if she could marry well and convince the Council of Lords, she might be allowed to rule the fief as her husband's proxy. 

Comte Doucy, as the newest member of the Council of Lords, was her target. It would be a good match. She would be marrying down, legally, but the Comte was from an older family with a far more affluent status. And if her contacts in his household were correct, he was a hypochondriac. She could easily use her skill at healing to endear herself to him. 

All their past plans had failed, but now she was sure this would work. 

"The rumor is that he has an interest in visiting Skyhold." Her father continued. "Provided the Inquisition turns out well at the peace talks, of course."

Safina laughed lightly. "Provided the Inquisition _survives_ the peace talks, you mean." She bounced up from her seat, suddenly eager to get moving. There was so much to do! "We're friendly enough with Madame de Fer. I will write to her, ask for an invitation." 

"Carefully." He cautioned.

"I can handle her, _Babai_." She kissed him on the cheek and headed out the door. 

She padded down the stairs and toward the kitchen, the thick carpet muffling her footsteps. Dim oil lamps lit the hallway, illuminating the dark wood and flowery wallpaper. Artful landscape paintings and mirrors hung on the wall at intervals. A tasteful style, though not terribly modern. As well as completely impersonal. Not as comforting as their apartments in Val Royeaux or the manor in Alyons, but it allowed her to entertain well enough.

"Marie?" She called as she stepped into the kitchen

A blonde head appeared at the cellar door. "Just a mo'!" Marie said. The maid hefted a basket of apples into the kitchen. She climbed the few cellar stairs and swung the door shut behind her. "Good morning, mi'lady." 

“Morning.” Safina smiled apologetically. “I know I said to you should rest today, but--”

“You’ve got some nobles to impress today, I already know.” She shrugged. “I thought a _mille-feuille_ and an apple cobbler would do the trick.”

“Marie, you’re an absolute marvel.” She said. She honestly didn’t know what she would do without her sometimes. “Can I help at all?”

The maid picked up a paring knife and pointed it at her threateningly. “Absolutely not. You’re still not allowed to touch my oven after what you did the last time.” She sighed. “You can take Elodie off my hands though, she’s been driving me batty all morning.”

“No, I’m not!” A small voice called out from the cabinet behind them.

She laughed and Marie rolled her eyes.

“ _Mon chou_ , I have a very important guest visiting soon.” Safina called. “Maybe you could help me choose a dress?”

With a sudden rattle of pots and pans, Elodie rolled out of the cabinet. Unkempt blonde curls bounced around her face as she jumped up and down with excitement.

“Bye mom!” She shouted and grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward her room.

Safina giggled and simply tried to keep up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter story I'm writing, so please write me a comment! Encouragement and criticism welcome!


End file.
